Dear Reader,
Something really neat happened to me recently.
I’ve been a writer for quite a while and I’ve had many readers. But outside a setting such as a writers’ conference or a book signing, I’ve never actually had a chance encounter with a reader.
One evening my husband and I were out walking two of our dogs. We’d gone about a mile when I spotted a young woman sitting alone on a bench reading. Naturally, I checked out the book—I always do. Much to my surprise, it was my book—Lilly’s Law, my first Flipside! My initial impulse was to rush over and autograph it. Which I didn’t, of course, because sensibility, my husband and two big dogs held me back.
Instead, I watched her read for a few minutes. Watched her face and saw pretty much the same expression we all have when we read. Nothing good, nothing bad. But then she laughed out loud, and when the laugh was gone her smile remained a while longer. For those few minutes, I had made a difference. I made her laugh, maybe even feel a little better, and it’s such a privilege to be able to do that for someone I’ve never met.
It is also a privilege to be back with you again, and I’d like to thank Wanda Ottewell and everybody at Harlequin for allowing me to write this book for you.
Wishing you love and laughter!
Dianne
P.S. For a different kind of read, try my new Medical Romance novel, from Harlequin Mills & Boon, coming in May 2005. You’ll find it available for order at www.eHarlequin.com.
“Do you listen to her show? Valentine McCarthy’s?”
Roxy’s heart skipped a beat at Ned’s question. She never admitted to being her alter ego. “I’ve heard she’s really good. Cute. Smart. Nice voice. Great wardrobe. Good shoes. Very successful.” She couldn’t help applauding herself.
“Clearly you don’t listen to her much, do you?”
She got caught up in Ned’s eyes, forgetting who, what, when and where for a second. He was so hot. But then his words registered. He obviously was not a fan of her show.
“I listen sometimes,” Roxy said carefully. “She’s good entertainment. And popular.”
Ned laughed. “Well, you’re right about that. She’s popular. I guess that’s the way she wants to waste her Ph.D.”
“Waste?”
“Hack advice.” His voice was dismissive.
“Entertainment.” Funny, he wasn’t looking quite so attractive right now.
“Bad entertainment.”
That’s what he thought? “So would I be wrong in assuming you’re not a big Val fan?”
“Nope. Just listen when I can’t sleep.”
Great. She had just spent all this time ogling a guy who hated half of who she was. Not the best forecast for a relationship.
Playing Games
Dianne Drake
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
What’s life without a few pets? Dianne Drake and her hubby Joel have seven—four dogs and three cats, all rescued strays. In the few spare minutes her animals grant her, Dianne goes to the Indianapolis Symphony, the Indianapolis Colts NFL team, the Indiana Pacers NBA team—can you tell she lives in Indianapolis? And occasionally, she and Joel sneak away and do something really special, like take in a hockey game.
Books by Dianne Drake
HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE
16—LILLY’S LAW
HARLEQUIN DUETS
58—THE DOCTOR DILEMMA
106—ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?
To Janie, the real spunk behind the heroine in this book
Contents
1
A Little Friday-Night Waiting & Shrink-baiting
“WELCOME TO MIDNIGHT SPECIAL, sugars. Are you ready for something special? Because if you are, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Doctor Val has something extra-specially special for you tonight.”
Roxy Rose gave her sound engineer, Doyle Hopps, the nod, and the program started on cue with caller number one, a thirty-something hubby-done-her-wrong from Olympia. Make that cheating husband number fifty-six for the week. Roxy always counted them—the cheating husbands. Just in case she landed a book deal somewhere down the line she wanted to be accurate. Not that she was planning on writing a book, like that obnoxious Doctor Edward Craig seemed to do about every two minutes. But she wasn’t ruling out anything because her career was on a big-time growth curve lately, and all those hanky-pankying husbands and two-timing boyfriends came in at a whopping
